


Ticket to LA

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, But he's married, Emotional Affair, Emotional Baggage, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Canon, Songfic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, but he sure isn't having Happily Married Thoughts, eddie doesn't actually cheat on shannon, their relationship is by mention only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29044194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: Gate 22Two hour delayHe was waiting on a plane to LAI didn't see the harm in sitting downAt the wrong gate--Or, Buck and Eddie meet on a rainy night at an airport in New York. It's just a blip, but could it be more?
Relationships: Eddie Diaz/Shannon Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, don't blame me. Blame Brett Young, attacking me when I was already soft and vulnerable, throwing emotional country music at me. 
> 
> Secondly, I love airports, because they feel like such an open and liminal space, where things happen in between parts of real-life. That's what this fic is: the in-between of Eddie's real-life and what he won't let himself dream of wanting. The rest will be up to you.
> 
> Enjoy!

Eddie sighs as music in the terminal stops. He can’t make out the lyrics over the din of the other travelers and the rain beating down against the windows, but he doesn’t think the song had ended. 

Which can only mean one thing. 

And sure enough, a moment later, it gives way to a garbled voice, announcing something he can’t understand. He rolls his eyes and turns in his seat, digging his hipbone painfully into the metal edge between the chair he’s occupying and the empty one next to him. 

As he tries to focus on the LED panels displaying the flight details for his gate, he cant help but notice that he’s the only person sitting over here. For a moment, he wonders why. 

Then, he sees it, bright red lettering on a black background, clear as day (well, maybe not _today_ , with the persistent thunderstorm he suspects is about to ruin his afternoon. But clear as _a_ day, for sure.) 

_Flight 6020 – El Paso: DELAYED 10:54 p.m._

He swears under his breath and checks his watch. It’s hardly after 7:30 now, and instead of his flight being an hour away, he has three hours to kill at the airport. 

But as the initial frustration fades, and he comes to terms with the control he doesn’t have over this, he finds that he’s not actually that upset about it. 

Sure, there’s only so much to do at JFK, especially since he’s already cleared security. But he just got two extra hours. That’s two more hours before he has to go home, go back to his life. 

Two hours that he doesn’t have to be a husband, or father, or son, or soldier, or anything else that anyone expects him to be. There’s a pang of guilt in his chest, the realization that he’s secretly thrilled to have this extra time, to abandon everything he’s ever known, even if just for a little bit. 

He can’t remember the last time he’s done something just for himself. It’s not a luxury he usually gets, between his obligations to Shannon, his dedication to the child they share together. When he’s not trying to perfect the image of ‘family man,’ proving to his parents that he’s capable of providing for his wife and son, he’s on post. He spends countless hours in scratchy, stiff polyester uniforms, camouflage sticking out like a sore thumb against the pavement covering much of the base. 

He does it for his family, though, for Shannon and Christopher. And for his country, answering the higher call to enlist and serve. It keeps food on the table, a roof over their heads, and it gives him a sense of purpose. 

It's who he is: a husband, a father, a soldier. He’s constantly trying to prove himself, to fulfill all of those roles at once, to make his parents proud and live up to the image his father had cast for him. 

But none of that matters now, not for the next two hours. And as much as it’s thrilling, the opportunity to do whatever he wants within these walls, without having to worry about what people will think of him, it’s terrifying. The opportunities feel endless, without any fixed target to focus on or options to rationalize through in search of the best, most responsible course of action. 

Maybe he should start with a walk. 

He slings one backpack strap over his shoulder and heads down the terminal, no real goal in mind other than to find somewhere more interesting to sit than here. At the very least, he’d like to find somewhere he can people watch. 

So he wanders away from Gate 17, away from where he’ll board the plane back to the man he’s supposed to be. 

The next couple of gates are right there, not even a stone’s throw away from where he’d been sitting, so he keeps walking, past them, out of sight of the chair he’s just abandoned. The next cluster of gates, just around the corner from where he had been, has more people scattered throughout. Not enough to be crowded, by any means, but enough that it doesn’t feel quite so solitary. 

Eddie starts looking around, trying to decide if he’s ready to look for another seat or if he wants to keep walking. If he keeps going now, then his legs will be nice and stretched out during the flight, and he’ll probably be more comfortable when he lands. 

But that sounds an awful lot like what he should do, what people would expect of him. It’s practical and responsible, and he’d promised himself not to squander these next two hours on the person everyone else wants him to be. 

He doesn’t know a version of himself outside of that, not anymore. But he’ll never be able to find one if he paces back and forth all night, trapped inside of his own mind. 

Besides, he’s just caught sight of someone sitting in front of Gate 22, and he likes what he sees. 

They’re blonde, well-built, with a big chest and toned arms. He’s too far back to pick out an eye color, but his first instinct is to get close enough to find out. 

Almost immediately after the thought crosses his mind, his stomach goes tight. He’s got Shannon at home, his wife, the mother of his son. Who is he, checking people out at the airport? 

Well, this is certainly the last thing anyone would expect of him. 

And this stranger is sitting all alone, shoulders drawn up tight and tension radiating out into the terminal. Eddie knows firsthand, from just a moment ago, how terrible that can feel. So it doesn’t have to mean anything when he walks over and stops just as his shadow covers the row of chairs. Nothing other than two people, sitting in the airport, killing a couple of hours together instead of scrolling idly (or, frustratedly, in the stranger’s case, judging by the tight set of his jaw) through their phones. 

“Hey, is anyone sitting here?” He waits for the other person to look up. Some of the tension melts away as he looks at Eddie and smiles. 

Blue. His eyes are blue. Bright blue, with a pinkish birthmark splotched over the left one. 

Eddie startles himself with how quickly he catalogues this into the (admittedly limited) information he has about this stranger as he slides his phone into his sweatshirt pocket. 

“Yeah. I-I mean, no, no one is sitting here. Yeah, you can. Um, assuming that’s what you were going to ask.” 

“It is,” Eddie chuckles and settles down with a chair left empty between them. He almost takes the seat right next to the guy, but figures this way he’ll be able to turn more comfortably to look at him while he talks. 

Providing that they’re going to talk, of course. Eddie hopes they do, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to convince himself to strike up the conversation. After all, he’s already asked a total stranger if they can sit together. He’s pretty sure it’s the other guy’s turn to make the next move. 

Thankfully, the silence doesn’t drag on for long before he’s startled back to reality by the stranger’s voice. 

“So, where you headed to?” His voice is deep, a little bit raspy, like he’s whispering even at full volume. It’s unlike anything Eddie has ever heard, but he knows right away that he likes it. 

A lot. 

His mind races with options, possible answers to the question. He’s going to Texas, back to El Paso, but that doesn’t feel like a complete answer, even if he knows that anyone would take it as one. 

Home, except it hasn’t felt that way for longer than he cares to think about. Sure, Chris and Shannon are there, and it’s where he grew up, but he doesn't fit in there any better than he had in Afghanistan. Maybe even less, because at least on his deployment he’d known what he was supposed to be doing at any given moment. 

Back to his family. Back to his wife and son. It’s the most honest response he’s thought of so far, but it feels like too much of the truth. Eddie just met this guy; he doesn’t need to know everything. 

He doesn’t let himself stop to consider why he doesn’t want to say anything about the people he’s flying back to. 

Back to real life. But that isn’t right either. It doesn’t say anything, not to answer the question he’s been asked. 

He’s aware that it should be a simple question, and he’s probably taking too long to answer. Whoever this stranger is, he’s probably regretting every agreeing to let Eddie sit down, if he can’t even tell him where he’s going. 

But Eddie doesn’t know where he’s going. Sure, he can point to El Paso on a map, tell stories about his neighborhood and his family and everything else. But he’s not sure what any of it means to him anymore. 

Other than Chris. He misses his son like crazy, every moment he’s gone, and can’t wait to be there when he wakes up in the morning. Or, at the rate things are going, when he gets home from school. 

That doesn’t put him any closer to an answer, though. Not one that feels sufficient, without oversharing. So he dodges the question, demures with a small smile. 

“I’d go anywhere with you.” 

It’s so completely unlike the person Eddie knows himself to be. He doesn’t flirt with people, as a general rule. Not even with Shannon, and he wonders for a second what that says about his marriage. But he stops that thought in its tracks. This isn’t the time, nor the place for that. There’s no shame in a little teasing, not when nothing is going to come of it anyway. 

Shannon doesn’t need to know. No one does. This is who he is for the next two hours, but then he’ll go back to his life, back to what’s “right,” and “expected,” and “stable.” 

And until then, he can settle back in his uncomfortable vinyl chair and flirt with a stranger. 

Especially a stranger with a bright, joyful laugh and a smile that lights up the entire terminal, even through the dark storm clouds outside. 

“LA it is, then,” he glances out the window and frowns a little bit. “If this storm lets up enough that they can stop grounding all the planes.” 

“Yeah …" Eddie trails off, unsure of how to respond to that, but suddenly desperate to get his new airport-buddy to smile again. He’d looked so much better a second ago, without the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Uh, I’m Eddie. Y’know, since we’re spending the next few hours together. We, uh, should probably know each other’s names.” 

“Sure,” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “They call me Buck.” 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time flies as Buck and Eddie get to know each other. And Eddie starts trying to work through some big thoughts.

The next time Eddie thinks to look at the time, it’s closer to 9 o’clock than it is eight. He and Buck have spent the last hour talking about whatever crosses their minds, and yet it feels like they only met five minutes ago. 

Buck had noticed the nametag hanging from his backpack, DIAZ stitched across the Army’s signature camo print, and asked if it had anything to do with his travels this time. 

“Yeah, actually,” he rubs at the back of his neck, always a little sheepish when he talks about his military service. He didn’t enlist so he could say he did; the glory has never been part of it for him. If anything, he’s a little embarrassed about how long he’s stuck around. “I had a training thing out at Fort Drum. But they won’t pay for the flights unless they’re deploying, so here we are.” 

Eddie shrugs, and Buck must pick up on his discomfort, because he changes the subject. 

“Hey, my sister doesn’t buy my flights either!” Buck laughs. “I finally managed a few days in a row without a shift, so I figured I’d go back home and visit her in Pennsylvania. Cheaper to connect through here than fly direct, so …" his eyes shine as he steals Eddie’s phrasing. “Here we are.” 

That short moment aside, it’s the most comfortable Eddie has felt with anyone in a long time. He and Buck have the same sense of humor, laughing at the same parts of each other’s stories, mundane though they may seem. 

Buck tells him about the time he’d sat two rows up from Johnny Depp on a flight, spent two hours working up the nerve to go say something about how much he likes his movies. 

“Except when I finally got up and walked over, it wasn’t even him! Just some other dude with stringy hair and a fedora!” Buck finishes, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes. “Probably for the best, though, because I saw his next movie when it came out and I should have asked for my money back.” 

That’s the part that makes Eddie laugh, the way Buck pretends to whisper the last sentence like he’s afraid someone might overhear. Buck laughs too, eyes crinkling up at the edges as his shoulders shake up and down. 

“My first tour, they had some reality show singer come perform on one of the bases,” Eddie counters. “Everyone spent the whole week building up to it, talking about how great she was and how they’d watched the show for her and everything. Then she opens her mouth, and we realized that the whole thing must have been auto-tuned. Nails on a chalkboard? They’d have won a Grammy over this performance.” 

“Oh god, Buck grimaces. “Did you stay?” 

“What else is there to do on a military base in Afghanistan?” 

“Get shot at,” Buck deadpans. The remark catches Eddie off guard; most people aren’t so candid about the dangerous parts of deployment. He gasps around another laugh, chuckling as he stares at Buck. 

“Might have hurt less, honestly,” he replies, when he’s got his breath back. “But Shan – I never would have lived it down.” 

He’s not sure why he stumbles over Shannon’s name. She’s his wife, after all, and they’ve been married for close to a decade. But it doesn’t feel like the right moment to bring it up, not when he has no idea what Buck’s situation is. Eddie has seen enough people through enough things (usually Army buddies getting served with divorce papers right before they deployed, which he’s always thought was unnecessarily cruel, even if they’d both known things were on the rocks) that he knows better than to assume anything when he brings up his marriage. On the off chance that Buck is going through something, he’d just as soon not add insult to injury by talking about his own paper-perfect family. 

“So, there a girlfriend waiting for you in LA?” 

It doesn’t stop him from being curious, though. Because he’s spent the last hour and a half looking at Buck, being instantly drawn toward his effusive personality. There’s no ring on his finger – an observation that makes Eddie run his thumb idly along his own silicone band – but Eddie is sure he knows what the answer will be. 

Which is why he’s so surprised when Buck responds immediately. 

“Nah,” he says. Eddie could be mistaken, but he thinks there’s a blush blossoming across Buck’s cheeks, something on the tip of his tongue that he hesitates for a moment before saying. “No boyfriend either.” 

Eddie blinks at him a few times, his brain short-circuiting at that. Buck doesn’t have a boyfriend, but doesn’t object to admitting that he doesn’t have one. Which means that he might be open to having one, and maybe in another lifetime. 

Maybe in another lifetime, it could have been Buck. If they’d have met sooner. Or later. Or not waiting out a thunderstorm at JFK. 

But they’re in this lifetime, where he’s married to Shannon, and they have the greatest 5-year-old he’s ever met, and he and Buck will cross paths at the airport, and probably never see each other again. 

It’s exhilarating as much as it pains him, knowing that there’s a fixed deadline on their connection. He’s got the next two hours, give or take, before he leaves today behind, for better or for worse. 

Those words ring in his head, images of Shannon in her wedding dress flashing through his mind, interspersed with worried blue eyes. 

Worried … blue … eyes. 

When Eddie shakes himself back into the moment, Buck is staring at him in concern. 

“Eddie?” He looks relieved when Eddie focuses on him again. “I said ‘what about you?’ Anyone waiting back home?” 

“I’ll be there when Chris wakes up in the morning,” Eddie muses, talking to himself as much as he’s talking to Buck. “That’s always the best part of coming home.” 

“Chris?” Buck asks, and Eddie registers the full force of what he’s just said. 

It’s true; Chris is the best thing that’s ever happened to Eddie, the center of his universe. Before he was a father himself, he’d listen to his friends talk about their kids, about how “everything I do is for them,” and have to resist the urge to roll his eyes at how corny it sounded. 

But his world had shifted on its axis five years ago, the first time Chris had wrapped his whole tiny hand around one of Eddie’s fingers. Everything had changed, and he knows now that he’d give up everything if his son needed him to. 

He just hadn’t meant to say it right now. It’s a little too real, he thinks, for sitting in the airport terminal and reinventing himself. Because now the only thing he can think about is whether or not Shannon bought pancake mix last time she was at the store so he can make breakfast tomorrow before he insists on being the one to drive Chris to school. 

“My … my son,” Eddie clarifies, hoping he doesn’t sound half as wistful as he’s feeling right now. Someday, he wants to take Chris on his first flight, watch him light up as he explores the airport, maybe makes a new friend or two along the way. “He’s five.” 

“Dude, that’s awesome!” He has no idea how he’d been expecting Buck to react, but Eddie knows that he wasn’t prepared for the way he smiles and claps his hands together once. “I love kids! My little cousin just turned six, and she’s a blast!” 

“He’s the best thing in my world,” Eddie says honestly. “Started school this year, so he’s got all kinds of stories when I come home.” 

“I’ll bet. Nat’s always talking my ear off at the holidays. Last time it was showing everyone that she can count to 100 by herself.” 

Eddie laughs. 

“We’re up to like 78 or something now. The pattern hasn’t quite kicked in, but he has a good time trying to figure it out. And he’ll color his crayons down to stubs, all day if you let him.” Eddie thinks about the coloring books and the brand-new box of crayons in his bag, swears to himself that he’ll spend a couple of hours tomorrow night sitting at the table with his son. 

“I found out at Thanksgiving that I apparently ‘color wrong,’” Buck compliments his words with air quotes, and Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Wrong blue for the sky?” He guesses. “There’s a dressing down from a kindergartner I’ll never forget.” 

“I didn’t outline before I started shading.” 

Eddie winces empathetically, preemptively dreading the day that Chris starts critiquing his skills instead of being happy to have someone to color with. 

“Yikes. I tried to tell him that skies can be dark blue at night, or if it’s raining,” Eddie gestures out the window where the rain is still pouring down on the empty runway. They’re quiet for a moment, and he thinks he can hear the wind blowing against the glass. 

They trade stories for a few minutes longer, until something tightens in Eddie’s chest. He wonders if it’s the realization that the last couple of anecdotes he’s shared are actually retellings of things Shannon had told him first – moments he’s missed, time with Chris he’ll never get back. Or it could be that he’s checked his watch again; it’s after nine now, and the minutes are ticking by faster than he can keep count of them. 

He’d stay here forever, if he could. The force of the epiphany hits him like a Mack truck, that he’d give almost anything to stay in this moment just a little bit longer. Sure, he and Buck just met, but they’ve hit it off so perfectly, like Eddie could say anything at all and it wouldn’t faze him. 

He wonders what Buck would say if Eddie suggested that they move into the airport, just stay in the terminal until one of them gets bored. He can’t imagine a world in which that ever happens, though; it feels like they’ll never run out of things to talk about. 

But Eddie knows he can’t say that. It’s way too forward, for one thing. And for another, they just met. At the airport. 

There are so many reasons it would never work. 

He’s got a job in El Paso, a Major who’s expecting him back on base first thing Tuesday morning. And Chris; he’d never walk away from his son like that, could never give up everything he’s brought into Eddie’s life. His family is in Texas too, and that has to mean something, even if he’s getting a little tired of hearing his parents rattle off all the ways he’s failed to meet their expectations, failed to provide for his family even as he’s worked his ass off on two tours of duty. 

Besides, Buck probably has a whole list of reasons that he can’t just up and move into Gate 22 on a whim. He’s got some sort of a job, probably family or someone waiting for him back in LA. 

And it’s an airport. Where they just met. People don’t live in airports. 

Maybe they could move. He and Chris and Shannon could pack up their little house, start making a new history for themselves. He’s always heard that California is a nice place to live, even if everything is crazy expensive. 

That doesn’t feel right, though. He doesn’t want to uproot everything Chris has in El Paso, everything he and Shannon have ever known together. He has to go back to Texas. They need him there. 

But he still has a couple more hours before his flight, and he doesn't want to waste that time worrying about how it’ll end. 

So when Buck finishes talking, wraps up a story Eddie feels a little bit bad for missing the majority of, he wipes his sweaty palms along his thighs. His jeans offer just enough friction to help him refocus on the present as he points at the neon sign hanging across the partition of a tiny airport bar. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Thursday!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buck and Eddie relocate to the airport bar.

Eddie feels better as soon as they’re settled across from one another at a tiny high-top. As promised, he’d bought the first round, a couple of pints that he slid in front of Buck as he climbed up onto his barstool. 

Buck wraps his hands around his glass and takes a small sip. He worries his bottom lip as he sets it back down. All at once, Eddie realizes that he’s sitting with his back to the large window panes, which means that Buck just has to glance over his shoulder to watch the storm rage. 

“Buck?” He says after a moment, trying to come up with another story to tell. Of course, the harder he looks in the depths of his mind, the harder it becomes to find something perfect. Sure, there are plenty of things he’d love to tell Buck about, 28 years of his life to fit into the few hours they have together. But everything he can think of pales in comparison to the worry in Buck’s eyes, the furrow in his brows and the way his fingers are twitching around his beer. 

So he doesn’t say anything else, just waits until Buck finally pulls his gaze back to Eddie. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have tried to do this.” 

“What?” Eddie’s heart sinks. He has no idea what happened in the last five minutes, but clearly something changed for Buck. He’s probably seen right through Eddie, caught onto every conflict tearing through his brain, and changed his mind. Sitting alone at the airport has to be better than sitting with some weirdo who can’t even say his wife’s name right now. 

It’s fine; Eddie will finish his beer and find an excuse to walk away, maybe hide in the bathroom until his flight boards. 

“I knew I’d need more than two days to get to Hershey and back. I never should have tried to do this all in one weekend. If they cancel this flight, I’m fucked. There’s no way I’ll be back in time for my shift tomorrow.” 

Eddie knows this shouldn’t make him feel better. If anything, he should be worrying on Buck’s behalf, reassuring his new friend that everything will work out. But the knot in his stomach loosens when he realizes that Buck doesn’t seem to be regretting his decision to let Eddie take the seat next to him. 

“Hey, it’ll … surely you can tell your boss that you’re stuck at the airport, right? They’ll understand that it’s not your fault?” 

“I dunno, man.” Buck takes a long gulp of his beer. “I haven’t worked there that long, Bobby hasn’t really come around on me yet. I don’t think we’re quite past the fire-” Buck cuts himself off, and Eddie’s curiosity piques. “Anyway, he’ll probably kill me if I’m late for work. Or worse, lecture me on responsibility and time management.” 

Eddie chuckles at how serious Buck seems, like a dressing down from his boss would actually be the fate worse than death. 

Then again, he doesn’t know Buck’s boss. And he can think of a few officers he’d served under during his deployments, remembers thinking that somehow the worst part of war wasn’t actually the war. So maybe he’s right. 

But that doesn’t mean Eddie’s going to let him stew on it. What kind of airport friend would he be if he didn't even try to take Buck’s mind off of his problems? 

He takes a drink from his own beer, taking a moment to study Buck’s face. There’s just a hint of stubble breaking across his sharp jawline, twin creases between his eyebrows from the pressure of his concern. Even when he’s frustrated, there’s something about his appearance that Eddie finds captivating. 

“You could always point out that he’s not managing your time at work very well by wasting your shift with a lecture,” Eddie suggests, tipping his glass up to drain the last swig. 

Buck laughs uproariously at that, head thrown back and gasping for breath. 

“God, that really would be a death wish,” he says, when he’s regained his composure. 

When neither of them say anything else for a moment, Eddie points at Buck’s almost-empty glass. 

“Need a refill?” Buck nods, and he’s back a minute later with two fresh pours. 

This time, when Eddie sits down, Buck starts talking immediately, telling him stories about growing up in Pennsylvania and everything he’s experienced since. 

“OK, so this one time,” he’s laughing before the story has even really started, and Eddie finds that he can’t help but chuckle along at Buck’s infectious sense of humor. “This one time, I’m down in South America tending bar for a summer, right? And I tell this guy I’m from Hershey – you know, the town in Pennsylvania. Except he apparently did not know that there’s such a town, because he starts asking me what it’s like to be the heir to a chocolate company! ‘Is Mr. Hershey your grandfather?’” Buck imitates, with dramatic air quotes around the words. “Dude, that was like 150 years ago; of course it wasn’t my grandfather!” 

There’s got to be something missing from the story, some situational context, you-had-to-be-there that Eddie isn’t picking up on. Still, he and Buck are both laughing, hard enough that Eddie’s sides are starting to ache from it. He counters with a story about the commanding officer who called everyone underneath him ‘roaches,’ and how furious he became when some private pointed out that a roach is a pretty good thing to be, considering how resilient they are. 

“And he’s shaved bald, so you could see just how far back on his head the vein throbbed,” he finishes, sputtering a little bit when he tries to take a drink too soon. 

Buck is still laughing when the intercom clicks on, a voice calling their fates down from on high. 

_Flight 6020 to El Paso begin advance boarding. All elderly travelers, travelers with young children and military flyers report to Gate 19 for advance boarding, please._

His stomach turns over at the announcement. 

He doesn’t need advance boarding, he reminds himself. Sure, it’s nice to be ahead of the throngs of people crammed into the aisles, easier to get a spot in the overhead compartment for his bag. But tonight, he’d happily trade all of that for a few more minutes to sit here with Buck. It’s only a couple minutes after 10; he still has almost an hour until he’s supposed to be in the air. 

Still, the thought of getting up anytime soon makes his mouth turn dry and his hands go clammy. 

So he pushes it to the back of his mind and gives himself five more minutes. Five minutes to listen to the end of Buck’s story and finish his beer. Then he’ll get up and go join the boarding line. 

Except that five minutes turn to 10, turn to 15, and then 20, as he’s listening to the boarding groups being called out in order. He can picture the letter C printed in the top corner of his ticket, knows it’s almost his turn. 

Surely they’d let him get in line with a later group. 

He can take five more minutes. 

Fifteen more minutes later, the next time he says that to himself, he really means it. Five more minutes, and then he’ll stand up, and he’ll say “that’s my flight, it was nice to meet you, thanks for the company,” and he’ll take his bag and he’ll walk back to his gate. 

He has to. If he misses this plane, he doesn't think he’ll be able to make it back to El Paso before tomorrow afternoon. And he has to go home; they’re waiting for him at home. Shannon and Chris need him at home. His parents, his unit, everyone needs him at home. 

Whether he wants to be there or not. 

He’s going to be on that plane. He has to be. He’s a stand-up man, a family man. Of course he’ll make the flight. 

It’s what everyone is expecting him to do. 

But then they’re making the final boarding call. And Buck doesn’t know that this is supposed to be Eddie’s flight, because he’d never mentioned El Paso specifically. So he’s in the middle of telling Eddie about the time his car broke down outside Phoenix and he’d had to hitchhike far enough into the city that he could find a tow truck. He’s just made it to the part where Buck had laid flat in the bed of a pickup truck so no one would see him riding back there without a seatbelt when he makes his decision. 

He can catch the next flight. 

After all, Eddie can’t remember the last time he’s been able to just sit around with one of his friends and drink a beer or two. 

Or three; the glasses are empty again, and Eddie waves the bartender over for another round. It's not like he has to worry about driving anywhere tonight. He can grant himself this one little luxury, one more drink with a new friend before they have to part ways. 

He can’t see it from where he’s sitting, but he’s sure the plane has taken off by now. Or at least it’s pulled away from the gate. Eddie can’t bring himself to look out the window and check, but he’s been in enough airports to know what it’d look like, getting smaller and smaller in the distance and disappearing into the clouds. 

Without him on it. 

He should feel worse about it, he thinks. But there’s no guilt in his stomach, hardly any tension or worry in his mind. 

At least, he feels OK about his decision until he shifts sideways on his barstool and sees the windows in his periphery. A second later, the sky lights up bright white, a flash of daylight even though it’s past 11 o'clock now. 

The thunder comes next, almost immediately after, rumbling loudly enough to rattle the windows. Eddie and Buck both jump at the suddenness of it all, gone just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the darkness and pounding rain in its wake. 

_Is this the universe trying to punish him for taking a couple of extra hours to himself?_

The joke is on the universe, if it is, Eddie thinks. Because it was a little funny, two grown men startling at a little bit of thunder and lightning. He starts to chuckle at the timing, but then looks over at Buck and sees that he’s biting his lip and staring out the window again. 

“Probably isn’t safe to fly in this,” Eddie teases as he waves down the bartender again. He’s joking, really, trying to lighten the mood with Buck as much as he’s convincing himself that he did the right thing by not getting on the plane. But Buck doesn’t relax, still looks like he’s liable to break his glass with how tightly he’s holding onto it. So Eddie tries a new approach. “Hey, you know they’d ground the flights if it were actually going to be dangerous.” 

“Yeah, I know.” It’s the sharpest thing Buck has said since they started talking, his words harsh enough that Eddie shifts a few inches away from them. Buck must notice this, because he takes a deep breath and clenches his free hand into a fist, then releases it. “Sorry, I’m just … I _really_ can’t miss work tomorrow. I just need them to let me on a plane; I can make anything else work.” 

“Hey,” Eddie waits for Buck to look back to his face. “You’ll make it. Or you’ll make it work. Either way, it’ll be OK.” 

It’s more honest than anything either of them have said most of the night, closer to baring his soul than Eddie had ever thought he’d come sitting in the airport like this. But clearly Buck had needed to hear it, because it’s enough to draw the tension back out of his shoulders. He settles back and takes another drink as he nods shakily. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it will. It’ll be OK. And hey, worst case scenario, I’ll just … move into the airport, get a job here or something. On this side of security, so no one can track me down.” 

Privately, Eddie thinks that Buck might be onto something. Sure, he wants Buck to make it back for his shift, if that’s something Buck wants. But if he gives himself a moment to be selfish – well, another moment, given how many times he’s already thrown responsibility out the window tonight – then he has to admit that the idea of being stranded at JFK with Buck doesn’t actually sound that bad. 

He’s surprised when the thought crosses his mind, surprised that he’s letting himself even consider something like this. It’s almost entirely self-serving, and completely impractical. He knows it’s not going to happen. 

But just for a second, he lets himself hope for it anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters! Who's ready for Sunday?


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fully prepared for you to all start screaming at me. It's OK, I can take it.

Buck is staring out the window again a few minutes later, when Eddie realizes that if he notices how he’s watching, it’s more likely to come off as creepy than focused and interested. So he reaches across the table and nudges Buck’s pinky with his own to get his attention. 

“Hey,” he says, when Buck finally looks his way. “You can’t go anywhere yet. I haven’t even told you about the time Chris swore in front of my mom.” 

At that, Buck smiles. But it doesn’t reach his eyes, and his voice sounds a little strained when he speaks. 

“Well you’d better fill me in, then.” 

“He was … two and a half, maybe three?” Eddie guesses, trying to remember how different everything was, even just a few years ago. “Anyway, my folks love him to pieces, but they’ve made it pretty clear that they don’t think I’m really cut out for fatherhood. But we’re all over at dinner one night, and Chris is trying to chew his way through a corncob when it slides out of his grip and hits the floor. 

“It’s no big deal, I mean little kids drop things, right? And if that had been the end of it, everything would have been fine. But he looks right at me, holds both sticky little hands out and shouts ‘shit, Daddy! Drop it!’” Eddie imitates the gestures, his eyes going wide as Buck cracks a smile. 

A moment later, they’re both laughing again. Buck’s eyes are watering, and it’s like he’s taken all of the energy he’d been using to worry about his flight and channeled it into reacting to Eddie’s story. 

As for Eddie, he’s never been able to tell that story, or even think about it, without chuckling at least a little bit. And for once, he’s got a setting where Shannon won’t glare at him when he gets to the punchline. He’d been the only person in that dining room to see the humor in the whole thing, and even now, not enough time has passed for anyone else to be laughing with him. 

Except Buck. 

Buck, who’s seemingly relaxed again, settled back into his seat and wiping tears from his eyes. 

“Oh man, that’s _golden._ Please tell me you’re going to bring it up at his 16th birthday.” 

“What, and ruin it for his wedding?” Eddie rolls his eyes, and Buck laughs again. 

“Fair, fair,” he replies. “OK, so my first swear, or at least the first one I remember, I was in school. Probably third grade, I think? We were working on rhymes, and I’m sure you see this one coming, but: truck, stuck, cluck, muck, fuck.” 

“Oh _god,”_ Eddie rolls his eyes and grins. 

“Yeah, I missed recess for a _week._ On the bright side, my dad took one look at the note from the teacher and pointed out that I had followed the assignment directions, so I wasn’t in any more trouble than that.” 

With that, they’re back to swapping stories like they’re catching up after years apart. And in a way, Eddie supposes, they are. Maybe they haven’t met before tonight, but it feels like he’s known Buck forever, like every detail he’s hearing about Buck’s past is a perfect fit with what he already knows about him. 

When Eddie looks up again, checks the clock at the back of the bar, it’s after midnight. At some point, though he’d be hard-pressed to know when, the drink in his hand turned to water. It’s probably a more responsible decision, especially if he’s so distracted that he hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t drinking beer anymore, so he just nods to himself at the realization and takes another sip. 

It’s been four hours, and they still haven’t grown tired of each other’s company. Eddie can’t remember the last time he fell into sync with someone so easily, especially right after meeting them. 

His flight must have left over an hour ago, but he’s hardly thinking about that now. Why would he be, when he could be thinking instead about Buck’s voice, how it’s deep and just a little bit rough around the edges; Buck’s hands, wrapped around his glass and tapping out a staccato beat on the tabletop; the bright and joyful look on his face as he talks; how easily the words slide out of his mouth, one after another like he’s rehearsed it, even though Eddie knows he couldn’t have known to prepare for all of this? 

Eddie should have been on that plane; the Eddie who walked into the airport three hours early so he could get though security efficiently _would_ have been on that plane. And at the very least, he should be at the ticket counter right now, looking for another way home, worrying about what Shannon would say if she knew he were blowing off his responsibilities like this. 

But he isn’t worried about any of that. He’ll find his way home sometime tomorrow, refreshed and reinvigorated from everything that’s happened tonight. It’ll make him a better father to Chris, taking a little bit of personal time to recharge himself. 

He can figure the rest of it out later. 

Besides, right now, Buck is telling him about the time in college that he drank three fishbowls of punch at a party. Well, he’s telling Eddie about the next morning, the worst hangover he’s ever had, and how he still has almost no memory of the night before, beyond what others had filled in for him. 

“To this day, I have no idea how I managed to pass that econ exam,” Buck finishes, draining the last of the water from his glass. “”Hey, what about your flight? They should’ve called you to board by now, right?” 

_Shit. Eddie had been hoping he wouldn’t notice._

“Oh, uh … yeah,” he says, kicking himself for how stupid he sounds. “I got an … alert. On the app. Another delay, probably until tomorrow.” He shakes his head like he’s disappointed, tries to school his features to match. Buck winces. 

“Damn, that’s rough. I’m sorry, man. Hey, maybe you can cook dinner with Chris tomorrow.” 

And actually, Buck might be onto something. If he’d have taken the flight tonight, he’d be home in time to cook breakfast and see Chris long enough to drop him off at school. And he knows how hard that separation would have been for both of them, so soon after Eddie was back in his world again, even just for a few hours. 

But he can get the first plane out tomorrow, hopefully have things settled with Shannon before pickup time, and let Chris decide what they’re cooking for dinner together. Truly, the best part of letting his 5-year-old help with the meal planning is that he usually asks for macaroni and chicken nuggets, and Eddie can hold his own with that menu, even if he doesn’t have much in the way of kitchen skills. 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs as the last weight of the guilt lifts from his shoulders. “What are you gonna do? It’s up to the airlines. At least the company is good.” 

He tips his glass at Buck and takes a sip. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Buck replies, raising his own glass to his lips. 

They both laugh when he realizes that it’s empty, Buck’s face turning red as he sets it back down and waves at the bartender. 

Of all the expressions he’s seen tonight, Buck’s blush might have to be Eddie’s favorite. 

The silence that settles over them is comfortable, two old-feeling friends just enjoying each other’s presence at the bar. Eddie smiles at the bartender when he refills their glasses, but the longer they’re quiet together, the more Eddie knows he made the right choice by being here tonight. 

Buck keeps staring into his glass, swirling the water around. But he doesn’t look so anxious anymore, Eddie thinks. There’s something on his mind, but it doesn’t seem to be as important as the flight had been. 

He’s just getting ready to ask, thinking about the phrase _penny for your thoughts_ when Buck looks up and opens his mouth. 

“I’m .. I’m a firefighter, you know?” 

“I didn’t, but OK.” Eddie nods, trying to figure out where Buck is going with this. “I’m a soldier. That’s it, for now, but I’ll figure something else out when the enlistment ends.” 

“It's a good gig," Buck takes a sip and thinks for a moment before he continues. “Best job I’ve ever had, and trust me, there are a few to pick from. Every single day, I get to help people, whatever calls we go on. And there’s just no better feeling than that. 

“And the work stories?” Buck half-segues abruptly, suddenly seeming to decide that the conversation is turning too real. “Can’t beat the stories, man.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie smiles around the rim of his glass. “Whatcha got? C'mon, hit me.” 

“You mean aside from the massive tapeworm I pulled out of the guy in the back of the ambulance?” Buck furrows his brow and Eddie laughs. “That’s a story, but not one for the bar. Something about ‘ruining the meal,’ and ‘scarring people for life.’” 

“I … I could see that,” Eddie chuckles. “What else?” 

“How about the time the bouncy castle took flight, birthday party of little kids in tow? Oh, and the grown man who’d let it all happen?” 

“Shit, really?” Eddie immediately thinks about all the times he’s watched Chris navigate the inflatable castles at one gathering or the other. “Aren’t they tied into the ground?” 

“Yeah, in theory. But only until the adult gets in and throws it all off balance right as the wind picks up. Tumbled right off a cliff and just stayed in the air.” Buck waves his hand airily, like he’s mapping the inflatable’s path between them. 

“What happened?” 

“It floated pretty good, until it bounced off of the next cliffside.” Eddie sucks in a breath, and Buck continues, eyes shining brightly. “That was my first big rappel for LAFD too, outside of the academy. Climbed down the rocks, just hoped someone would be making some noise.” 

“And?” He’s riveted, only proving Buck right. This is better than some of his own Army stories, and he’s spent two tours in Afghanistan. 

“And they were all fine, thank God. Just a few bumps and bruises, but the sides were all inflated well enough to absorb the shock.“ 

Eddie sighs, secondhand relief washing over him as Buck finishes the story. Buck had roped him in, hook, line and sinker, but Eddie can’t be sure if it’s the story or the storyteller. 

Regardless, Buck is clearly in his element now, launching into another rescue story. Eddie listens closely to this one too, enraptured by the way Buck weaves the tale of the baby girl he’d saved from a plumbing pipe. He still checks in on her every so often, even though it’s been close to eight months since he rescued her, and Eddie is stricken with the image of Buck cradling an infant in his arms. His mind’s eye supplies the missing details, the baby getting bigger and bigger as Buck watches over her. 

It’s a good look on him, Eddie has to admit, even if he’s never seen it in person. Granted, so far, _everything_ seems to be a good look on Buck. 

He tells a story about his sister next, how she’d helped him with his math homework until he was in fifth grade, when they’d apparently changed the curriculum enough that she couldn’t keep up with it anymore, even though she’d only been in high school at the time. 

“But she never gave up,” Buck remembers . “Even if she couldn’t explain it to me, she sat there at the table every night and worked on her own stuff until I was finished.” 

Eddie can’t help but notice how fondly Buck speaks of his sister. It’s beginning to make sense, why he’d risk the stress of flight delays just for a couple days of her company. There’s a pang in Eddie’s chest when he wonders if anyone would make that kind of journey just to see him. 

He pushes that aside to listen to Buck, though. It’s almost 1:30 now, and even Eddie has no idea what flight he’s on, he does knows it’s been a while since he heard any more delay announcements, so odds are good that it’s getting close to time for them to part ways. 

If he only has a few more minutes with Buck, he doesn’t want to waste them on his own melancholy. 

Buck is still talking when the digital chime plays over the loudspeaker a few minutes later. 

_Begin early boarding flight 323 to LAX at Gate 22._

It’s selfish, and Eddie knows it, but he doesn’t say anything. They’re just now starting early boarding, so it’s not like Buck is at risk of missing the flight. 

If this even is his flight, which Eddie doesn't know for sure that it is. Still, there’s a knot in his stomach telling him that their time together is probably coming to an end. And if he can delay it for even a couple more minutes, then he’s willing to do that, whatever the cost. 

He’s not even listening to the words from Buck’s mouth anymore, too busy trying to memorize everything he can about the cadence and tone and every other detail of this moment to pay attention to the words themselves. 

The next announcement comes far too soon for Eddie’s liking, the start of the next boarding group. This time, Buck does hear it. He reaches for his phone, for the first time since Eddie had sat down beside him at the gate, and his eyes go wide. 

_”Finally,”_ he sighs. “That’s me. Well, Group B. Not quite priority boarding, but early enough I should still be able to get a window.” 

Buck looks relieved, but Eddie thinks there’s something else in his expression too. He could be fooling himself, it could be wishful thinking, but it looks a little bit like sadness. 

He’d never ask Buck to miss his flight, not when he knows how much this means to him. And he’s already taken two hours more than the universe had tried to give them, two hours he wouldn’t trade for anything. But it only feels like a couple of seconds later that they’re announcing Buck’s boarding group, and he’s draining his water as he stands up. 

“Well that’s my cue,” he says as he reaches for his backpack and settles both straps over one shoulder. “Thanks for the company, Eddie. Seriously, no idea how I’d have gotten through this without you.” 

“Ah, you’d have been fine,” Eddie stands up to say goodbye, hating how final the word sounds in his mind. “But,” he continues, when Buck goes to protest. “I’m glad I could help. It was great to meet you. Really, _really_ great.” 

They shake hands, clapping each other on the back lightly, and Eddie braces himself for the pain of having to watch Buck walk away. 

Buck turns around, and the knife in Eddie’s gut twists. He should look down, or walk around until he finds a bathroom, or something, _anything,_ other than watching Buck head back across the terminal. 

But he only makes it a couple of steps before he’s stopping dead in his tracks and spinning back around to face Eddie again. 

Then he’s patting along his pants pockets, twisting his arm back awkwardly to reach for the side of his backpack until he’s able to pull something loose. There’s just enough distance between them that Eddie can’t tell what it is, but he doesn’t figure that he has any right to know. After all, it’s Buck’s world now, not theirs. 

It never was theirs, not really, no matter how it had felt for the last couple of hours. 

Eddie looks down at his glass and considers taking a sip he doesn’t know that he’d be able to stomach. 

But the next thing he knows, there’s a pair of worn-in loafers at the top of his vision. 

He looks up, and Buck is standing there in front of him, scanning the tabletop for something. 

He reaches for one of the paper napkins their glasses had rested on, but pulls his hand back when he touches the ring of dampness from the condensation. The other two napkins he tries are just as damp, but Eddie has no idea why that matters. 

Then Buck is reaching out again, this time to grab Eddie’s hand. His skin is warm, a little rough around the edges but mostly soft against Eddie’s fingers. His free hand winds around Eddie’s fingers, uncurling them until his palm is exposed. 

When Eddie looks up, there’s a cheap ballpoint pen between Buck’s teeth, some hotel logo printed on the side. He can’t make it out, though, as Buck pulls the pen out of his mouth and clicks the top a few times. 

It digs into Eddie’s skin, scratching against the nerves. There’s not quite enough pressure for it to hurt, just enough that it tickles and he has to keep himself from pulling his hand away. He feels every stroke of it, the ink burning into his skin, hotter than the itch of any tattoo he’s ever gotten. But he can’t figure out what Buck is writing, not from the feel of it alone, and he can’t tear his gaze away from Buck’s face long enough to look. 

Soon, much too soon if you ask Eddie, Buck is folding Eddie’s fingers back in, covering up whatever he’s just etched into his palm. He closes the pen and hooks it around his belt loop, then takes a half-step back. 

“Bye, Eddie.” 

“Bye, Buck.” Then, as Buck is turning away from him again, almost as an afterthought, he tacks on, “Have a good shift.” 

Buck turns his head, just far enough to look over his shoulder, and smiles as he points at Eddie’s hand. 

“Use that. I mean it.” 

Then he’s stepping back into the main stretch of the terminal, disappearing into a throng of travelers and leaving Eddie to sink back into his seat. 

Alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, wait, I lied, please don't yell. The walls are thin here. Aggressive whispers are OK though. 
> 
> Just remember, it all wraps up on Thursday!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone here in the middle of JFK  
> Tryin' to keep my mind off the fallin' rain  
> I'd do anything to bring [him] back  
> Never wanted anything so bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I hope y'all have enjoyed this as much as I did!

Eddie isn’t sure how long he sits there before the sting of Buck’s departure dulls enough for him to regain his senses. But when he does, he realizes that he’s dropped the back of his hand to the tabletop, fingers still loosely curled where Buck had left them. 

If he focuses on it, Eddie can still feel Buck’s touch, warm and heavy and comforting in the cold sterility of the airport. 

His mind races with everything that Buck could have written there, from a fortune cookie message to a secret wish for Eddie to join him in LA. He doubts it’s the latter, can tell just from the few hours they’ve spent together that Buck is too selfless to ask that of anyone, especially when he knows Eddie has a family waiting for him at home. 

It’s another long moment before Eddie convinces himself to end the mystery and open his hand. 

_Evan B._ is scrawled across his palm in bright blue ink, followed by 10 smudgy digits that he can immediately piece into a phone number. 

Eddie smiles, without caring who’s around to see it, and reaches carefully for his phone with his unmarked hand. The numbers are already starting to blur a little bit, and he wants to make sure this connection isn’t lost forever to a sloppy six that smears to look like an eight. 

He takes a couple of pictures of his hand, carefully types the name and number into his notes app before he pockets his phone again. Still, he’s careful not to touch anything with the hand Buck had written on. Just because he’s got the information saved doesn’t mean that he’s ready for the physical evidence of their time together to disappear yet. 

As it is, he misses Buck already, so much that it’s a little hard for him to breathe under the weight of it. These last few hours have been the best company he’s had in years. Maybe ever, if he’s completely honest with himself. 

He wants to text Buck right away, wants to tell him all that and more. But he knows he can’t. Not yet. Not when Buck probably hasn’t even boarded his flight, when Eddie still has most of a glass of water in front of him. He's not sure why that matters, but it sticks in his brain until he reaches out and takes a drink. It’s icy cold in his throat, cooling the white-hot burn Buck had left behind in his chest, and Eddie feels a little bit better with his next sip. 

Besides, there’s something else he needs to do before he can take advantage of the number on his hand. 

He tips the glass up over his mouth, gulping the last swallows until every drop is gone. Then he stands, straining to reach all the way around his back for his wallet, on the far side of his free hand. He fishes a $5 bill out and crumples it around the handle of his duffle bag long enough to walk over to the bar and stuff it in the tip jar. 

Tonight has been worth way more than $5 to him, but it’s the only cash he has, and there’s no time to find an ATM. Not when he has the next phase of his mission in mind. He heaves his bag over one shoulder and walks away, turning the opposite direction from where he knows Buck had gone. 

It’s just a little too soon to have to walk by the gate that had taken Buck away from him, the cut still a little too fresh and raw in his heart. 

And, more practically, his next destination is back toward the center of the building. 

It’s only a short walk before he’s getting in line at the ticket counter. His time at JFK is ending, and he knows what he has to do about it. There’s only one traveler ahead of him in line, but he’s nervous as soon as he stops walking. His weight shifts between his feet, back and forth and back again until the ticketing agent is calling for him. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and looks down at the ink on his palm as he steps up to the counter. 

“Hi. I need to buy a plane ticket, please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! The airport bubble is popped!

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts so far? I'm thinking Thursday/Sunday updates for this one, unless and until I forget what day of the week it is. Again.


End file.
